


some secrets are better left buried.

by insomnomnomia



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21878038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insomnomnomia/pseuds/insomnomnomia
Summary: Something is off. Scratch that — 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 is off. From your coworkers, to your manager to the sinking feeling that continues to pull at your stomach when you step inside to the smell...and god, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮?
Relationships: Bonnie (Five Nights at Freddy's)/Reader, Freddy Fazbear/Reader
Comments: 42
Kudos: 146





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> heyo b4 u start reading this, this first chapter is very messy, still getting the hang of the overarching plot and what to do with characters.  
> this DOES take place in og pizzeria with og animatronics.  
> i would consider my knowledge of fnafpretty extensive but if i get anything wrong feel free to tell me, afterall i havent checked out a fnaf theory since the fourth game was released, but since this story revolves around og, there shouldnt be a lot wrong although i know there are a few topics/theories that were debunked with the inclusion of later fnaf titles.  
> i will be writing in events i feel suit the lore and are interesting to the reader! I.E. paranormal activities.  
> if you have any ideas/requests for how the story should be drawn out, i will take your suggestion under advisement.  
> there will be multiple chapters. i have a loose outline for each. 
> 
> enjoy! :)

You stare down at your resume, a sense of defeat hanging over you, your computer screen obnoxiously bright in your face. What were you doing wrong? There had to be someone who was desperate enough to take you in. And soon enough — you hear your phone ring in your bag and take the call, your voice wavering. You had been applying to jobs all over town, for at least a week now, all sharing one aspect in common with another. You look down at your right hand, curling your sore fingers into a weak fist. You listen earnestly, worried one wrong word would be enough for them to change their mind and tell you to fuck off. 

“Okay...yes, thank you. Buh bye.” 

You breathe in, leaning back into your couch. _You’ll come in, Tuesday and shadow Denise, one of our employees, and after that...well, that’s up for you to decide._ You squint. Why would they say something like that to a figurative employee? Someone who was to work for them, if they were desperate for staff? What an odd choice of words. Your head falls back on your pillows with ease as you melt with your sheets, dreams of pizza filling your head as you sleep. 

You stir at the stench of rotting flesh spilling into your lungs. It’s unmistakable, indescribable.The smell of death and decay, a smell so foul. You shoot up, coughing and spluttering at the mouth, your gag reflex at its lowest. You swallow hard, hand raising to pinch your nose as you pry one eye open to see a figure sitting before you. It was dark, too dark. Too _dark_. You struggle to stand, lightheaded and unnerved. The shadow moved with you, mirroring your behavior. The floor beneath you is cold and rough, _feels like asphalt._ You think to yourself as you stare at the perpetually shifting form that stood in front of you. It was large, larger than you. It towered over you even as you stood straight, your eyes shifting to where you assumed it’s would be. The smell is gone. And soon enough, the shadow had left with it.

You wake with a choked gasp, your hands shaking as you move them to grip your shirt loosely, your heart beating in your ears as you look around, assuring yourself that, _yes,_ that _was_ a dream, and _no,_ none of that actually happened. A faint smile pulls at the corners of your lips as you lie in bed, suddenly grateful for the life you’ve been given. What a terrible nightmare. Still... _that smell...it was so strong._ You still feel how overwhelming it was when you breathe in. You turn on your side, eyes tired, before your eyes finally focus on the red flashing from your clock. _Great_. You sigh, lifting yourself with your elbows. 

The drive to the pizzaria was short, only three streets away. If you really wanted, you could bike. You didn’t fail to notice the pleasant look of surprise that pulled at your manager’s sunken face, or the look of unease in Denise’s tired eyes when you pushed past those doors. Or the awkward laugh that would fall from their lips whenever you asked questions that you soon deemed as _too personal._ Denise was fairly sweet, genuine and you much enjoyed her company now that your manager had left you two to yourselves. You walk alongside her as she leads you down the main hall, towards the ‘breaker room’, filled with spare animatronic parts.

“Did you sleep alright last night?” You blurt out. She frowns, turning to you, her lips parting to speak before her eyes focus on something behind you. 

“Hey! You! Yes, _you_ , please step away from Fazbear and his friends!” She slides past you and you turn in confusion to see her at knee level with a small child. He sighs dramatically, his hand retracting, albeit reluctantly. “You have to learn to respect others boundaries, you know? Freddy doesn’t like touch, and you should respect that if you want to keep him as a friend. No! You’re not in trouble!” She’s flustered, but keeps her cool, trying the absolute best she can to console the kid as he’s now sobbing and calling out for his mom. A rather overweight woman steps in, squatting down to hold him in her arms. 

_Freddy doesn’t like touch._ You repeat, absentmindedly. 

“What happened, Blake?” She whispers in his hair. The kid only buries his face further into her shirt in response. Denise looks inherently uncomfortable. 

“I apologize, miss, but we can’t have the children pass this line,” She gestures down to the red tape lying only a mere four feet away from the stage. “He was leaning over to touch the animatronics, er, Freddy’s foot and I simply tried to explain to him why that’s not okay. I’m sorry, it wasn’t my place. I should have found you before anything else.” The woman’s eyes are wide as they flicker from the tape to the bear before landing on you.

_Why does she look so scared?_

“Oh! No, it’s okay. I understand...thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if —“ 

“No problem! Enjoy your time here and I’ll be right over _there_ if you have any other _concerns_.” Denise abruptly cuts her off, turning back to you and you two share an exasperated sigh before she takes you back to the breaker room. You watch as she moves about the room, talking with her hands. 

“Sooo…” You clear your throat. “That was, uh, eventful, huh?” 

“Oh, uh, it’s really nothing to be too worried about, I promise. The animatronics are sort of known to bug out now and then but don’t worry! We have insurance...and just for reference, the boss doesn’t appreciate the topic being brought up around him. Especially not in the workplace.” She bites her lip and although her words are filled with confidence, you can’t help but doubt her sincerity. You don’t push the subject. You glance around the dim room, lit only by a single bulb hanging measly from the ceiling. It’s almost depressing. And then it hits you. 

“It reeks in here.” You frown, and raise your hand to feel through the animatronic fur plastered on the spare rabbit head that sat near the edge of the table. Denise’s posture stiffens noticeably, as if it had just came to her that, yes, it did indeed reek in here. A shiver dances along your spine, as you pull your arm back to your side. 

“Mold — mold, most likely.” She says, her voice barely above a whisper. Your face scrunches up with distaste. 

“No, it’s...definitely _not_ mold.” You say, your eyes focusing on the suit that sat in the darkest part of the room. “It’s more like, I don’t know, like something is rotting? Do you have rats?” You pause, your mind slipping back to the horrible nightmare you had had the previous night. You stretch your toes in your shoes, turning back to face Denise. She’s staring at you with a far off look in her eyes. It’s like she wants to tell you something, like she’s _keeping_ something from you. You open your mouth to say something but you’re interrupted by the door slamming open. It bounces off of the wall with a loud _Thwap!_ You both are left at a stand still for more than a few minutes, as you catch your breath. You laugh nervously, your hand resting lightly over your heart. Denise steps over to investigate, her head poking out of the doorway, before tutting, dismissively, 

“Must’ve been a draft.” 

  
“A _draft_? Did you see how fast it flew open?” You shoot back, incredulously. Denise gives you a look from over her shoulder, as if to say, _no more questions._ And you leave it at that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But now that you were finally alone with the animatronics, and the agonizingly chaotic blare of white noise that had been built up by many rows of small children had died down significantly, you were coming to terms with the fact that maybe, just maybe you should’ve left when you were given the opportunity.

After Denise lectures you on why you should never, ever, ever eat the pizza here, she guides you to a room near the back entrance, decorated comfortably with a desk and chair. There’s a small electric fan sat near the corner and a few brand name posters taped lazily to the walls. You nod, clicking your tongue. 

“So?”

“This is...the main office for the less than fortunate employees who are saddled with the night shift.” Her eyes drop sheepishly to the patterned floor. You hum, uninterested. After acknowledging the disturbingly unsanitary means of the kitchen, she leads you to a small clearing sat in the main hall. A violet curtain is draped around the stage, and you can see bits and pieces of animatronic parts from where you stand beside Denise. “This is ‘Pirate’s Cove’. Do not, under any circumstances, lift that curtain, and if you see Foxy, well, _anywhere_ , please leave the premise, _immediately_ , and call this number — it’s the repair man.” She says, handing you a slip of paper, her handwriting is rushed but still holds personality. You squint, folding the paper and sliding it into a free pocket. 

“Okay…? Is he...okay?” You feel almost dumb asking such a question, but Denise was always so incredibly vague with what information she chose to share with you. The more she denied your curiosity, the more intent you were on uncovering what terrible secret she was keeping. Of course, there was the off chance that everyone here was just fucking with you, out of some sick form of entertainment. But, that wouldn’t explain the door flying open and the smell. Fuck, it reeked in nearly every revolting corner of this place. Outdated, certainly not underrated. Sometimes, if Denise had brought you to a particularly putrid spot, you were forced to hold your breath, answering her only with short quips and a tilt of the chin. Another thing you would notice is the frequent and sudden fluctuation in temperature. Your back could be soaked in sweat and you step three feet to the left and suddenly you’ve been transported to Antarctica. 

“He’s a little... _jankier_ than the rest. That’s for sure.” She shook her head as if it were some internal conflict that you were supposed to just _get._ The rest of the day, you two spent cleaning and assisting children and/or parents. After introducing you to several other skittish staff members, you were shown how to cook, bus tables, take orders, and how to properly care for the animatronics. 

“I thought it wasn’t safe for us to be so up-close and personal with the fucks.” You chirped, as she directed you on stage with a light hand to your back and instructed how to manually turn the animatronics on and off. You almost threw up as soon as you were in the near vicinity of the robots, your eyes watering lightly. _Denise must have the gag reflexes of a god._ You think, bitterly as you watch her step in close to point a hesitant hand near the lower end of Chica’s left shoulder. 

“ _Children._ The _children_ are never to be within three feet of an animatronic.” She replies, although failing to hide the resilience she holds when handling these creatures. You bite back the urge to roll your eyes.

You two are sat at a table during break when you decide to bring up the back room. 

“So, uh, what’s the night shift like? You just — sit there, and watch the cameras? I seriously doubt anyone is trying to break into _Freddy Fazbear’s_ anytime soon.” You joke, halfheartedly. She doesn’t respond, and you look to see her head down with a blank stare towards her food. “Oh, come on! What is so _wrong_ with this place that you can’t even tell me?” You push. “You do realize I’m going to be working alongside you for...I don’t know, a _while_? Loosen up. Besides, whatever you don’t tell me, I can find out on my own time.”

“Have fun with that; unless you’re vintage, you won’t. They covered everything up years ago and—”

“Not true.” A light voice interrupts the two of you and you turn to see a fellow coworker, Jackson? Yes, Jackson. His nametag catches your eye. “I mean, they did cover everything up _online._ My dad used to collect newspapers and if I’m not mistaken, we still _own_ those Fazbear scandal issues, and if we do, they’re still buried somewhere in our garage.” Denise is all but glaring at him now, as he brushes her aside to sit in the empty seat next to her. He runs a hand through his hair and straightens his glasses, before stretching out a hand and flashing you an irresistible smile. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. It’s Jackson, obviously.” He grins down at his uniform shirt, name tag crooked. You smile, and he shakes your hand with vigor before turning to Denise with a smug look.

“God damn it, Jackson! She’s going to leave if she finds out. God!” You’ve never seen Denise so blatantly frustrated before. 

“Find out what? Oh, don’t act like I haven’t noticed all of... _everything,_ this place is so weird! And the smell! My god, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to up and leave town.” You assure her, an arm reaching to grasp her shoulder, sympathetically. Jackson nods, eagerly. 

“I know right? Honestly, the worst place I’ve ever worked, but the drama is brilliant!” His eyes shine with passion, and it’s clear to you that he takes his work very seriously, as seriously as one can take minimum wage.

“Sorry, it’s the stress, it’s getting to my head.” She apologizes, a pathetic attempt at a smile tugging at her lips. “And yeah, this _is_ definitely the worst place I’ve ever worked in. They’ll hire anyone!” 

_Huh. No wonder they were so quick to call back._

“Like you.” Jackson says. Denise deadpans, and you allow the subtle music in the background begin drowning out their voices as they bicker with each other. You watch as Bonnie uncomfortably shifts on stage to look from Freddy to the crowd and you wonder just how long it’s been since those parts have been replaced. Freddy gives a wholehearted laugh before his eyes begin to scan the many rows of children sat in the audience. The lights above flicker from green to blue to red. 

“Uh oh! Looks like Chica dropped her cupcake!” Freddy exclaims, his mechanical parts working to orchestrate as much shock, as awkward as it is, as he can force to his facial features. Bonnie gasps, almost sarcastically. Some kid in the crowd shouts an obscenity, calling Bonnie out on his bullshit and you can almost make out a hint of a glare from behind his cold, lifeless eyes. Chica frowns awkwardly before bending over in place to —

“Hey, I thought we fixed her plate last weekend?” Denise pipes up, quizzically. Her eyebrows are furrowed, deep in thought when you look back at her. Jackson nods. 

“Yeah...I’m pretty sure that’s not supposed to happen. How did it already manage to rust off in such a short span of time?” 

A sense of dread washes over you suddenly and in a matter of seconds, you feel sick, lightheaded and — god, why is Freddy looking directly at you? His eyes are mean and it’s almost as if he’s testing you. To what? You have no clue, but the way he’s staring at you now doesn’t give you much hope for the future. 

“Why would —“ your voice cracks, and you clear your throat with a small _excuse me_ , “Why would they be programmed with that one specific voice line if it was never meant to happen in the first place?” You ask. Denise and Jackson kind of just look at each other and you swear you’re so done with this bullshit everyone has constantly had thrown in your face. You turn back to the stage to see you’ve lost Freddy’s attention and the band has since moved on to play another ‘classic’ song. 

“Well, you know, they haven’t replaced these shits since, what, the _80s_? So, I doubt they would put in the effort to update something as minuscule as dialogue option.” Jackson suggests. You shift in your seat, uncomfortably. 

“ _The 80s?_ Is _everything_ here dated?” You whisper, nervously. You can feel the anxiety welling in your chest as you watch the animatronics perform on stage. The kids are cheering now, gathered a few feet behind the red tape separating them from the stage. 

“Company’s cheap.”

“Why does anyone still work here? Why do people still come? If it’s _this_ bad…” 

“Some people just can’t afford Chuck E. Cheese.” Denise says, sadly. “And this is a particularly shady spot in town, so it doesn’t surprise me that so many people still celebrate here. Some may just be trying to hold on to that nostalgia, these characters _are_ beloved. And besides, we do try our damned best to keep the pizzeria up to code...but —“ 

“Surprisingly,” Jackson interrupts, “There’s only been four, _public,_ cases of dire food poisoning from the food here. In the last 30 years! I’d say that’s something to be proud of.”

“Really?” You quirk an eyebrow. _Huh. Interesting._ You wonder if Jackson has even seen the kitchen anytime recently, or at all, for that matter. You had never been too interested in _Freddy’s._ You’d plenty of friends in your youth who had thrown birthday parties among other things but you were never invited, so, naturally, you had never truly seen inside one until a few of your old pals from high school decided to invite you out, and you thought to yourself, _hey, this should be entertaining._ And found yourself leaving almost immediately upon arrival. How could anyone eat this shit for brains pizza or stand the incessant flashing lights? Of course, you could and _would_ for something as simple as a job opportunity, but to torment yourself with such a task as this in your spare time? You couldn’t cope. 

“Listen,” Jackson excuses himself from the table, patting his uniform down as he stands, “I gotta go, was tasked with cleaning _you know who._ It’s been fun —“ He repeats your name, quietly but you hear him, “right? If I managed to spook you, well, good, but! Don’t fret, this place isn’t all bad. And, Denise and I promise to protect you from the _scary wary monsters_.” He finishes, bending over so that he’s leaning down with his hands on his knees in Denise’s face, mockingly. You bite back a laugh. 

“Oh! So...those newspapers?” You croak out before he can slip away. He grins, and holds out a single pinky, pulling it to his chest. 

“I swear’m. Next shift, I’ll bring em in. You can count on me!” 

“No you can’t.” Denise assures you. Jackson guffaws, dramatically before sauntering away. “I apologize for his...well, him.” 

“No, no, he’s, uh, charismatic!” 

Her gaze shifts from you to the stage. “Yeah, I’ll say.” 

The last few hours of your shift were spent wiping down tables and taking out trash. Piles among piles of trash. Denise had offered to close up shop, as much of the staff had already clocked out, desperate to escape this rather...quirky establishment, but you insisted that you were fine and you could handle yourself just as well as any sane person would. Well, sane enough to decide to come here, of all places, for a job. But now that you were finally alone with the animatronics, and the noise had died down significantly, you were coming to terms with the fact that maybe, just _maybe_ you should’ve left when you were given the opportunity. You sigh, drying the last of the dishes before moseying down to the main hall, where the stage sat uncomfortably still. Freddy’s ears twitch, in what you assume to be a motion triggered action, and you see his eyes scan the darkened room before they land on you. 

_Great._

“Only one?” He says, his gruff voice barely above a whisper. You laugh, awkwardly, unsure of what exactly to do in a scenario such as this. 

“Wow! She must be a _big_ fan, if she stayed — came out _just_ for us!” Bonnie says, his eyes shifting from Chica to Freddy as his torso tilts stiffly on its axis. Why do they look so smug?

“Hardee har, har, realllll funny.” You whine, sarcasm very evident in your tone. You turn to the table with your belongings placed atop it, only to find your scarf is missing. _Fuck. Is there someone else in here?_ Your stomach churns with paranoia. You couldn’t leave until the building was clear, save for the night guard. You nearly yelp when Bonnie speaks once more, and you jump slightly at the jarring sound that cuts through the silence.

“Are you lost — lost...did you _lose it_? Aren’t you _missing something_?

( _someone.)_ ” 

You hear mechanical springs and wire shift from underneath their suits as they turn their heads in unison to watch you struggle for your scarf. You bump your head on the table, coming back up and groan, face red with embarrassment and frustration. You swear you hear Chica laugh, it’s high pitched and squeaky, and wow, annoying, but Freddy’s head is the only one you can see moving. You see the familiar fabric of your scarf from behind Freddy’s back and frown. Freddy is smiling down at you, amusement clear in his plastic eyes. The lids of his eyes drop down ever so slightly when he sees you round the stage and start up the steps. 

_This fucker is doing it on purpose._ You don’t even stop to question _how_ , too irritated to bother with logic. _He knows I don’t like them. Their — presence. He knows. He knows._

You stop, you have to stop, only six feet away and you can _still_ smell them. 

“You guys are awful. Like, seriously, when was the last time you bathed?” You try to mix the atmosphere, cutting through the tension with a sad attempt at a joke. You watch as they side eye you from where you stand, your arms raised to take back what’s yours. You stop suddenly when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You scream, dropping down to the floor, assuming fetal position as you wait for the darkness to consume you. 

_Jesus, take the wheel!_

“Woah! Woah...are you okay? Jeez.” _Denise?_ “I just came back, I forgot something in the break room, wow, I didn’t mean to scare you so badly. I’m sorry.” You open one eye, your heart beating in your ears as you come to stand once more, uneasy legs testing you. “Why does Freddy have your scarf? Uh...don’t tell me you were doing some weird roleplay while I was gone…” Denise steps back, allowing you room to breathe. 

“No! Oh my god.” You’re sure your face is a bright red, now, you can feel it. “He _took_ it!” 

Denise gives you a look. 

“I swear! He did — okay, whatever, let’s just get out of here. I’ve had enough of _Freddy Fazbear’s_ for one day.” You give up, turning back to Freddy and reaching for your scarf. You pause midway, hesitant when you remember what Denise said. 

_Freddy doesn’t like touch._

You carefully pry the fabric away without touching him and leave with Denise. You two say your farewells and you depart. You note that she lives opposite from you, taking a left where you would take a right. When you slip home, you’re left exhausted, and don’t bother with dinner, collapsing in your bed as your mind replays events from earlier in the day. 

You really hope you weren’t making the wrong choice to take your next shift. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You look up at Freddy. You can’t tell what he’s thinking, if he even does, that is. Surely, they must. How else would they derive such sick, twisted pleasure out of tormenting you each night?

The decision to clock in your next few shifts was somewhat of a, as one would say, happy accident. You soon detached yourself from Denise, and made somewhat of an attempt at moving into the, although sturdy, erratic rhythm of your new job. One thing you picked up very easily during your first week, was that children can be very shitty. Very shitty. You witnessed things you had never dreamed of seeing in the rather short span that was your lifetime. The children were also very _friendly_ with the animatronics, as in, you were forced to consistently, and urgently reel children back in to the main dining area before they ended up past the red tape. You didn’t understand, these kids had almost exact replicas, whether it be in the form of a stuffy or an officially licensed _Fazbear Ent._ action figure. Speaking of those, it was straight from the get go that you learned how this scum of the earth corporation drew in revenue. Surely, they couldn’t have made enough purely from sister locations? And although you were skeptical in the beginning, your boss wasn’t the _shittiest_ person on earth. He was rather kind, and compassionate and understanding when it came to the struggle of minimum wage work. That being said, it, of course, never pardoned the sorry excuse of behavior he portrayed or the proper managing skills he so clearly lacked. But you gave him the benefit of the doubt. 

Denise and you developed a rocky friendship, you were very blunt and to the point while she preferred to lie low until the time to speak was right. She was subtle. You were not. This creates an interesting dynamic between the two of you, especially when forgetting to exclude Jackson. He was a crucial part of what drove your motivation to continue working at the pizzeria. And you weren’t too sure he didn’t have a small crush on Denise, actually, the pair couldn’t be more obvious, in your opinion. 

But there was something more, something deep within yourself that kept you from quitting. Something you’d never admit to. Someone. _Them._

“Ma’am?” A small voice interrupts your thoughts and you look down to see what looks to be a 30 year old in an eight year old’s body. He unwraps the _Fredbar_ he pulled from his overalls. You smile.

“Yes?”

“Where’s the shitter.” 

Oh, you were so done with these fucks. How could he say something so obscene and manage to keep a straight face? 

You point him in the direction of the bathrooms that were located on the far right of the building and resume your idle stance near the stage. You hadn’t any real work today and Denise along with Jackson were taking time off. Other staff had agreed to take over for them, including you. You stand there for a few seconds before your view shifts from the molding carpet to Freddy’s feet. Naturally, your eyes drew along his body as you inspected where each forelimb connected and where each circuit cut short. You can see a small tail when he turns to the side to say something to Bonnie and it’s almost cute. Almost. It would be if it weren’t for the fact that whoever programmed these A.I. fucks was fucking with you. You couldn’t seem to leave fast enough; every night it was something with Freddy, whether it be stolen keys or a sudden rush of wind knocking your bag out of your hand. You refuse to try and communicate verbally, generally leaving them with your fingers up for all to see as you walk out or the occasional curse in their direction. However, the more time of day you gave them, the further they felt inclined to screw with you, keeping you from your much needed rest. If it weren’t for the constant pressure you feel to please others, you would much rather prefer others lock up before you. You groan quietly upon seeing your name tag is missing as you stand before the rusting mirror in the women’s washroom. 

_When? How? It would’ve had to fallen off for him to reach it!_

“Okay,” You mutter, mostly to yourself, “This will be quick, and easy. I will search the hall before I search those gross fucks and then I will leave, name tag in tact, and call it a night. Fair?” You’re grumbling now, and you find yourself staring up at the stage, absentmindedly, as you exit the hall. “Fair.” 

_Ah._ This would definitely _not_ be quick and or easy. You chew at your lip, as you prepare yourself mentally for the torture that is working here. 

“You’re back! Back — we missed you!” Bonnie says, forcing a smile. You look away, unable to fathom how on earth they managed to take off with your name tag without you noticing. Your eyes shoot to Freddy, and you see it. Tucked beneath his fur, under his right shoulder. He seems to take notice of your sudden realization. 

“What? Is — Is something wrong?

_(wrong)_?” 

No! This is the _worst_ possible conclusion! You nearly chew your lip off with how hard you’re biting at it, tasting the blood beneath your tongue. 

_Freddy doesn’t like touch._

_He knows! He knows! It’s all on purpose!_

You solemnly drag your hands down your face, nails tugging at the skin as you start up the steps to the stage. Within a matter of seconds, you’re face to face with Freddy. Well, so to speak. You’re standing a good five feet away, precariously. 

“Oh! Come to perform with us now?” Chica bawks, twisting in place. Freddy raises a hand slowly to readjust his bow tie, (that doesn’t move), before it drops back down to his side. Bonnie and Chica are watching you like a hawk, all eyes are on you as you step in, Freddy’s drooping low to meet yours. 

_It’s all on purpose. He knows. He knows._ You hate this so very much. You’ve been standing inches away from him for a solid ten minutes now as you ponder just how the fuck you’re supposed to retrieve the scrap plastic without touching him. What would happen if you did? Would it really be so bad? Or is it just some stupid rule made up so that kids wouldn’t run their greasy ass fingers all through their synthetic fur? You think back to the look in the woman’s eyes from your first day, and come to terms with, _hey, maybe she had simply experienced a rather traumatic event earlier on in life and animatronics are now forever scarring in her eyes._ Eh, the idea was worth a shot. _Still…_

You look up at Freddy, you can’t tell what he’s thinking, if he even does, that is. Surely, they must. How else would they derive such sick twisted pleasure out of tormenting you each night? He’s been frozen in place for a long while now and you’re starting to wonder if somehow, maybe he had automatically shut down, like a computer falling asleep. 

_Huh, that’s kind of cute, actually._ Except it’s not, you remind yourself. And then he blinks. Sort of. It’s slow at first, one eye following the next until he’s finally blinking for real and you find yourself taking a few steps back, subconsciously. His head moves to the left and to the right before he raises an arm out. You notice Chica and Bonnie mirroring his behavior. It’s almost as if they’re...wait, what time is it? 

With Freddy now lifting his legs and taking slow, paced steps towards you, you nearly fall off of the stage, steadying yourself with your arms thrown out at your sides. You swallow hard when he stops in front of you. _Wow_ , you think. He absolutely _towers_ over you. You watch in horror as he reaches an arm out to take yours, and ever so slowly forces it up his chest until its resting snug under his fur. Experimentally, you stretch a few fingers out through his fur, it’s disgusting, just as you had presumed it would be. It’s matted and you can see a few stains leading behind his back, around his waist. The synthetic material of his suit is warm against your cool palms. You’re startled momentarily when his mouth falls ajar. 

“You _were_ forgetting something, _weren’t you?”_ His voice box must have been tampered with, you think when he speaks. It’s distorted, but his voice still remains rather deep, echoing throughout the pizzeria with every word. Bonnie nods his head, enthusiastically, _quickly._ Their movements aren’t awkward anymore, they’re now quick, sporadic, flexible. 

You learned two things that day. 

1 — Animatronics _love_ pizza.

2 — Freddy doesn’t like touch. 

_He loves it._

You spent a good hour that night in his arms; as warm and inviting as they were, that didn’t stop your heartbeat from pounding within your chest. You were utterly, and genuinely terrified, as you stare down at the checkered pattern on the floor. Freddy holds you close to his chest, you couldn’t tell if it was some stark error made by the developers or if it truly was the bear inside him, or maybe he just needed a hug. You begin to wonder if his brain was programmed to work the same way yours did, and if he really did just need a hug after so many years of being alone. _Skin to skin contact._

You gulp, Freddy’s grip on you tight, his claws flexing into your shoulders. Chica had left long ago, pizza in hand, Bonnie sat near the edge of the stage, fucking with his guitar. He was just sitting there! Playing guitar, like a human being! You gasp for air, your forehead soaked in sweat from the heat that seemed to be radiating off of big bear behind you. 

“He likes you.” Bonnie says, out of the blue. Freddy nods into your hair. “Always going on and _on_ about you. He’s been trying to keep you after hours, well, since you started here.”

“Right.” You say, “Denise, Jackson? Can you hear me? I don’t know what illegal substance I agreed to, but this is not what I signed up for, whatever _this_ is.”

Bonnie laughs, hand flying up to cover his mouth. 

“Oh, man! A real keeper, right?”

Freddy shifts under you.

A sinking feeling starts low in your stomach, as you realize what’s going to happen. As you realize _why_ his grip is so tight. Why he’s put so much effort into keeping you here for so long.

_He’s going to kill me._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re tempted to open up about your dream but you stop yourself. No need to stroke his ego anymore than you already have purely from body language. A sigh escapes your lips suddenly when you hear the back entrance open. “Thank god.” You mutter into Freddy’s arm.

“Hey,” You feel a hand on your shoulder, “Are you doing okay…?” 

You blink the sleep from your eyes, shrugging the hand from your shoulder before turning to face her. You’ve been out of it ever since — well, you’d rather not think about it right now. 

“Yeah, I’m just tired. Didn’t sleep well last night.” Technically, you weren’t lying. You _were_ tired, and you _didn’t_ sleep well. Actually, you didn’t sleep at all. Freddy had only finally freed you from his rectifying grip he held upon the night guard’s arrival. You feared for his safety after that encounter. You feared for your own safety, really; frequenting glances in your rear view and bolting your door shut. You sat straight that entire night, your blanket folded lazily at the foot of your bed. You had been staring at a screen for hours on end, trying so desperately to find anything that even remotely linked itself back to _Freddy Fazbear’s._ Countless articles, endless paragraphs of _nothing_ , blue light straining your tired eyes. You groan, feeling as if your exhausted figure had reached its limits when you lean behind the stage to fetch whatever Denise couldn’t reach. You wished Jackson would stop forgetting to bring you the newspapers he promised, you’re desperate. She seems skeptical of your lackluster response, but doesn’t pry any further. You stretch your neck, stiff from fatigue, before handing Denise the... _kneecap?_ You squint, watching her gauge your reaction before you see her form a small ‘O’ with her mouth. 

“Oh! Yeah, Freddy’s knee wasn’t bending properly, I need to take the one he has in right now out and replace it with this spare. I told you I try. Well — the best I can. I’m no professional, by any means.” She leans in, taking the scrap metal from your hands before turning on her heels. “I get a lot of things wrong, but I learn from my mistakes, and I research!” 

“I don’t know why you take this job so seriously.” You mutter. She doesn’t respond, leading you to assume she didn’t hear you as you follow her out to the stage. It’s early, so there are few children, leaving you and Denise plenty of room to work around where you normally wouldn’t have the time to. Denise drops down to her knees in front of Freddy and you can’t help but snicker to yourself, _better her than me._ You squat next to her and watch her prop open a cardboard box full of rusting tools and spare parts. She must keep these in the breaker room. You refuse to spare a single glance at him, you would rather die before allowing him the satisfaction of seeing you break before him. Your mind slips back to the previous night, remembering how warm he was and how warm he made you. Wait — he was definitely not having any issues with his knees _then_ , even holding you so that your ass had sunk into one, so why is Denise just now performing maintenance?

“Hey, why are you doing this, again?” You manage to mumble out, gesturing to the large animatronic. She sends you an exasperated look, frowning. 

“I literally just told you. Are you sure you’re alright? You seem—” 

  
“No, no! I get that. But, could you just — I don’t know, check? One more—” You’re interrupted by a stream of sparks that erupt from beneath Freddy’s kneecap plate, before the entire plate falls to the floor. You stop Denise before she can tell you off. 

“Don’t. I was only trying to help.” You’re too tired for this shit. For _his_ shit. Of course he didn’t plan on leaving you be anytime soon, even in the daytime. It was 8 AM, for crying out loud! She rolls her eyes before scooping the plate in her hands and dropping it inside the box, replacing it with a scalpel and screwdriver. After that, you blanked, sleep deprivation taking its final toll on you. You remember shutting your eyes and then, well, nothing, until you begin to stir at Denise shaking you awake. You’re slumped against Freddy’s left leg, hand spread over the fur lining his foot. Brilliant. This is exactly what you were trying to avoid! You wipe the drool from your mouth before standing and straightening your uniform, assuring Denise that, _yes_ , you were fine. She eventually and reluctantly backs off but not before explaining that she let you sleep only until she finished her work. It must not have taken her long because you felt no different than before. You idly trace the bags under your eyes while she rambles. 

The remainder of your shift was a blur, with Denise and another two of your coworkers offering up their asses consistently to save yours, until you were finally sent home with a slip from your manager. The second your head hit your pillows, it was lights out. 

You hear a voice, it’s distorted and quiet, almost a whisper but you recognize the suspiciously familiar tone almost immediately upon reaching your ears. You cross your arms; you’re standing in the breaker room at work, except this time, Freddy is here with you. He moves to brush your hair from your face. 

“Really, you won’t even give me a break in my dreams?” You sigh, leaning into his touch. He’s different, not so much animatronic, more bear-ish now, canines peeking from under his lip, ears folding forward slightly at the sight of you relaxing around him. You breathe into his hand, it’s still cold against your neck but you don’t mind. His top hat tilts left with his frame as he draws near, his grip on your jaw ever so tight, eyes a bright white in the darkness you two sat in. You uncross your arms, dropping down to your knees before him. You’re not thinking straight — _I mean, it’s a dream. Why shouldn’t I indulge?_

You’re taken aback when he falls, his weight near unbearable as you struggle to breathe from under him. His teeth are gone now, his normal, round, silicone set growing back through his gums. You see a tongue fall from his mouth, his jaw slipping with a loud _creak!_ Grateful that he’s now sitting back on his heels in front of you, you prop yourself up with your elbows. 

“What do you want from me? All you do is pester—” 

You’re cut off as he leans over you, paws coming down to rest flat on either side of your head. His fangs are back, along with his beautiful blue eyes that seem to bore into your soul. You cringe away from the drool that’s pooling from his mouth, your cheeks warming to a dull red. You can feel his breath against your lips as he closes in on you, watching as he shuts his eyes stiffly, as if he’s trying to savor this fleeting moment. And then you remember the way he held you and the way your heart beat in your chest as you pleaded with God to let you live to see another day. You swallow, the tension suddenly shifting from sexual to petrifying, your face paling as his fingers tighten around your neck.

“What is going on with you? No offense but you look terrible, Jackson didn’t finally send you those newspaper clippings, did he?” 

You wish that was all it was. How gratifying would that be? You shake your head, softly, grip around your mop impossibly tight as you think back to that awful dream. You couldn’t even look at him anymore, shame hot and obvious through your cheeks whenever you so much as spared a glance in his direction. 

“No. Although, that would be nice.” You say, bending to reach under the table. Denise hums, thoughtfully. You were well aware that she wasn’t oblivious to your behavior, but you knew she wouldn’t push it if you weren’t comfortable. You would tell her — eventually. 

_What would I even say? “Hey! By the way, I’ve been fucking Freddy Fazcuck in my dreams, and I’m pretty sure he’s going to kill me the next time he catches me afterhours! Also, I know where all of our leftover pizza is disappearing to! How was your morning?”_

You laugh to yourself, arriving at the decision to absolutely, never ever, ever tell her. 

She brushes your nonchalant manner off, waving you goodbye before leaving to clock out. You hum to yourself, spraying down the last two tables that sat near the stage, unfortunately for you. The jarring tune of Bonnie’s guitar cuts through the silence and you jump at the sound. _They’re just trying to fuck with you, ignore it and get out before you lose your chance._ You tell yourself, shrugging their presence off and pulling the chair out from under the last table. You’re finally calming down when you hear the sound of padded footsteps from behind you. There’s no way. It’s — you pull your phone from your pocket.

_12:03 AM_

You don’t even turn to face him, knowing fully well who it is creeping up on you. He starts at your shoulders, neglected joints working to hold either in his grasp.

“I’m hurt.” He whispers, lips moving with his words against your ear. “You want me to stay broken?” 

“You’re not even broken! Your knee was just _fine_ the other night. What — you expect me to just believe it rusted over night?” You scoff, leaning away, elbow connecting with his cheek in an attempt to take your space back. 

“You could.”

“Well, I’m not.” 

He hums. You frown upon the sensation of your shoulders cracking under his grip. He doesn’t push any further, hands sliding down to your waist. 

“No! No.” You whine, struggling to escape him. He’s too strong, the apparent rust ineffective as he only pulls you closer until his arms are wrapped completely around you, your waist insanely tiny in comparison to his. He leans down and you can feel his fur brushing up your cheek. You can almost see your lungs deflating under the sheer weight of him. 

“Do you know how badly I want to crush you, right here, right now?

 _(crush you)_ ”

You whimper.

“But I know you’re not deserving. You aren’t...him.” 

You hear Chica bicker something to Bonnie in the background.

“But oh, how you test me. Do you know that I’m holding myself back right now?” 

_Kill — kill her._ You hear Chica whisper. You imagine her and Bonnie bent over in anticipation, desperate for carnage. 

“I want to see you pop beneath me. It’s only natural.” 

_Take her life with your bare hands._

“Look —” You interrupt him, “I don’t know what you guys are, or how you even function, remotely, but I — I know that I’ve never once been less than kind to you. _Please._ ” Oh, the humanity. Were you really begging? How pathetic.

“Oh, you think I don’t know? There are _other_ reasons I hold you this way. I’m sure you’ve realized.” He breathes against your neck, sending goosebumps down your spine as you curl into him, absently. You feel his thumb waft back and forth, almost a massage into your forearm. 

“I…” You’re tempted to open up about your dream but stop yourself. No need to stroke his ego anymore than you already have purely from body language. A sigh escapes your lips suddenly when you hear the sound of the back entrance opening. “Thank god.” You mutter into Freddy’s arm. He gives you once last squeeze that takes your breath away before his hands trail away from you, starting back in the direction of the stage. 

You call Jackson that night, as you lie under your covers. Freddy’s lingering touch burns against your skin. You rub your eyes when he finally picks up the phone.

“Dude. I need those newspapers, like ASAP.” You say, cheek flat against your pillow. You can see him nodding, and sifting and turning his boxes as you listen to him rummage through his garage.

“Found them! I’ll bring them to you next time we work together. You’re doing okay? Denise told me you’ve been weird. She thinks I had something to do with it.”

“No, I’m fine. It’s just been kind of weird. This job is weird.”

“Yeah. But easy!” 

“I don’t know...but, thanks. This means a lot, I promise.”

“Oh, you have _no_ idea.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo!!!! wanted to say a few things.  
> first off, did you enjoy this chapter???????  
> second, im sorry it took longer to update, my sleep schedule got super fucked recently and i haven't had time where i wasn't busy / too exhuasted to function. maybe that sort of seeped into this chapter? lmao  
> i wanted to say that the reason i don't describe Denise and Jackson is because I know how easy it is to loathe OCs. im not a huge fan, im trying to make them as likeable as i can. and also i feel like most fnaf fanfiction wouldnt work without the shameless ocs unless you strictly wrote about the night shift which sounds terrible. I want to leave it up to the reader to decide what they want them to look like, besides the fact that Jackson has glasses. I want that to definitely stay a part of his character.  
> I try to keep the animatronics as animatronic as possible, but i do enjoy the idea of freddy being an actual bear, there are a few things that arent super realistic but i mean, fnaf isnt super realistic lol ummmm if theres anything that ever seems tacky pls tell me and if you ever have any ideas on how to portray their characters better, pls !!! tell me. i would love to hear new ideas. my outline is EXTREMELY loose, i have key events and plot points that i definitely want to throw in but the rest is mostly whatever i want to write at that time. besides the main storyline.  
> how long do you all like your chapters?/ i tend to keep what i read longer than 3k words but it takes TIME to write anymore than that. i applaud people who write one-offs that are 7-8k+, those people are insane. what else....../
> 
> i know i wanted to say another thing but i forgot, its 4:30 am and i am really tired lol. i hope you all had a very merry christmas. <3 and if u want u can check out my funtimefreddy/reader i posted on christmas day! its kinda short but !!!!i assume u like freddy if you're reading this. !!!!!!!!!!!!! thank you.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You think back to your dreams, and the smell. That awful smell, invasive and violating when forcing itself past your esophagus. You swallow back the nausea that built itself up, threatening you from the far end of your throat. Jackson takes notice and you can see the sympathetic look he gives you from your peripheral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey!!! i know I said that i would leave it up to the reader to decide what Jackson and Denice look like but if ure wondering!!! Denise, in my eyes, is a tall Indian girl with short hair, and Jackson is a super white twink with red hair!

Oh, great. _Another nightmare._

The stench is awful when it hits you, initially forcing its way down your throat and through to your lungs as you clutch at where your heart would be. Your eyes adjust slowly to the lack of light, hair matted around your face and in your eyes. You’re standing mere feet away before the shadow from weeks prior, albeit in this instance there is a noticeable difference in how it carries itself, it’s silhouette has grown, you can clearly see the intricate outline of some sort of shape and are almost able to make out who or what it was trying to portray. Just barely. 

Your mouth is dry when you speak.

“Who are you?” 

It doesn’t move, although you’re more than confident in your abilities when you see its eyes look up from the floor to meet yours. 

“You know, you smell really bad. Like — almost worse than…” Why were you blanking on their names? They were practically ingrained into your brain, crossing your mind nearly every night before you fall asleep. It laughs. You can’t hear it but you can make out it’s shoulders rising and falling in its quick, rushed movements. A smile pulls at your lips and you’re tempted to laugh along. “You know them?” You blurt out. It stops laughing, head snapping in your direction. Somehow, the silence has become progressively _more_ awkward as you two stand there, eye contact intense, never faulting. 

“Do you...do you come here because you’re bored? Is that it?” 

It hesitates. 

“It’s okay, if you do. I can get past the god awful stench of rotting carcass — eventually, at least.” 

It laughs again, bent over on its knees as you smile awkwardly. 

“I mean, I’m forced to endure it everyday. Well, almost everyday. Any shift I take, really. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one who really notices how everything is somehow rotting in that sleazy establishment. But, I know they’re only avoiding confrontation.” 

You sit down, elbows up your knees as you lean against where your wrist bends. You peel your hair from your face and curl it over your ears. 

“Can I tell you something? I think...I think I’m going to die. Well, I don’t know. I don’t want to push my luck but I know I need this job and I really really need to know why. I need to find out why.” _Why? Why what? Why all of the answers to simple questions are hushed comments, passive aggressive stares, why I can’t seem to shake the feeling of being watched, why I’m feeling an ever growing attraction for a robot bear who’s only purpose in life seems to be fucking with my psyche._ Why you couldn’t escape. It was clear to you now that even if you did send in the email and followed through with resignation that you wouldn’t shake anything. In fact, the thought of them _pursuing_ you sent you into a deep panic. He would find you. With help or no help, he would seek you out and kill you. 

It nods. Not in an attempt to reassure you, more so agreeing with what you were feeling. The more you thought about all of the times you were flat out ignored for something as simple as ‘ _hey, why has pirates cove been out of order for what, near 30 years?_ ’ the more you came to loathe the presence sitting before you. It was just another rendition of why you were unable to fall asleep every night, kept up until dawn, why even putting faith, as little as it was, into Denise troubled you. 

“Why are you still here?” You whisper. It looks away, uncomfortably. It _is_ bored. You’re about to push further when you wake up, eyes flying open to see the same blank ceiling above you. A heavy sigh falls from your rather chapped lips as you turn on your side to eye your phone. 

**_Jackson M._ **

**_3 New Messages…_ **

“Why did you bring me _here,_ of all places?” You say, unamused, as you and Jackson stand in the barren and unused parking lot of an abandoned _Blockbuster._ There’s a single taco truck in the far corner, accompanied by a firework stand. You’re in the middle of nowhere, a near half hour drive from town. Jackson offers you your burrito and coke before you both climb back into his corolla. 

“Not a lot of people, not a lot of attention.” He says, pushing his glasses up behind his ears. 

“Like anyone cares?” 

“Also, I wanted an excuse to eat here. Denise never lets me. She says that this place gives her the heebie-jeebies.”

“More than working at the pizzeria?” 

“I guess. I think it’s nice. And besides, look at how empty this place is; if someone _were_ gunning it for you, you would know well beforehand.” He shrugs, bending down to take a monster of a bite out of his taco, drenched in sour cream. It was leaking from the wrapper and down his wrist. You hand him a napkin before forcing your burrito in one of the cup holders between you and pulling the glove box open. A hefty stack of old newspaper stuck out, tied together with a single rubber band. You pick one from the stack and watch as it unravels across your lap. Sliding out of your jacket, you toss it behind you, your eye catching on the bold print next to a low res image of Freddy Fazbear standing tall, towering over who appears to be the founder of the corporation. 

**_Local pizzeria threatened with shutdown over sanitation._ **

“Remember these are out of order.” He picks apart at the stack, squinting. “Be careful not to tear them. My dad will kill me.”

“He still cares?” 

“Well, he used to work there, was laid off, so I can see why he would prefer to keep the dirt on them.” 

“None of this seems super out of the blue for them...except —oh my god.” You chew at your lip, peering down at the article through your thin eyes, squinting from the brash sunlight that shone through your window. “ _Five_ kids? How did no one notice…?” 

“You know how loud it gets in there, and imagine how much busier it was back then, before all of this, it must’ve been _way_ harder to hear through all those kids. But yeah, unless he took them back individually, which I seriously doubt, it’s kind of hard to believe that he brutally murdered all five kids at one time.” 

You curl your toes, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. Your lip is torn now, and you can taste blood as you stare down at your lap. _There’s no way. There’s no way._ You think back to your dreams, and the smell. That awful smell, invasive and violating when forcing itself past your esophagus. You swallow back the nausea that built itself up, threatening you from the far end of your throat. Jackson takes notice and you can see the sympathetic look he gives you from your peripheral. 

“The bodies were never found? How? Where are they? How could it smell like that if—”

“Smell like what?” 

You tense, turning to face Jackson completely. Your eyebrows are furrowed at an awkward angle as you give him an incredulous look, feeling the newspapers crumple from beneath your hands. He frowns. 

“What do you mean, _what smell?_ ” You can hear your heart beat in your ears. Your chest tightens as you curl forward slightly, paranoia filling your gut. He whispers your name, inherently uncomfortable. 

“What are you talking about?” You blink. 

“The _smell!_ The pizzeria! How do you…” 

“All I smell are sweaty kids and day old pizza. Are you sick? Maybe it’s the trash you’re getting.” 

“No! It’s not.” How could it be? It's such a distinctive scent, overwhelming in the worst ways possible. How could Jackson not know what you were talking about? It was always the first thing you noticed when you walked through those doors, always intensifying when you neared the animatronics, or the breaker room. Where the suits were. _The suits_. 

You stare down at your shoulder where Freddy nearly broke you from the sheer amount of pressure he had forced onto the plate. Your breathing is labored when you ask Jackson if you can borrow the newspapers, and tell him you’re not feeling well. He drops you off back at your place and you feel your eyes water when you shut the door behind you, sliding down until you’re pulled into fetal position on your kitchen floor. How could you have been so stupid? How had you not realized? 

You’re about to give up and fall back in bed when you think back to the article. It clearly stated that _five_ children were killed, and unbeknownst to most, there were only three animatronics that were kept active throughout the week, even counting Foxy, there would be only four still. Maybe you were jumping to conclusions, the stress and mental strain from work catching up to you. Is this how Denise felt? 

Reflecting back on that day you had first met her and trained with her, you remember how incredibly disturbed she clearly seemed when you two were alone in the breaker room with the spare animatronic suits and heads; obviously aware that there was something very seriously wrong and yet...could _she_ not smell it either? Were you going insane? Was that why the night-guard had never shown true interest in you, or the animatronics? Nothing was adding up.

“Denise, do you smell that?” You ask, one day when you two are sat at lunch. She peers around, before turning back to you with a ‘ _are you messing with me?_ ’ feel in her gaze. You shake your head, theory debunked, you direct your attention back to the food that sat in front of you. You had only taken two bites before you felt you would throw up, pushing it to the side. 

You’re walking through the halls with your dustpan, unsettled to your core when you bare witness to the poster that’s plastered to the wall to your left. It’s Freddy but his neck has been broken and mangled, right next to a line of posters that held crying children with low effort, colored pencils. You drop your dustpan, stepping in towards the poster of Freddy with the broken neck. Reaching with one hand to brush your fingers over where his neck bends, you jump back when you see his eyes turn stiffly to look up at you. You hold your breath, stumbling backwards and watching as the long line of posters, one by one, turn in your direction. _They’re all staring at you._ You ran from the hall, sprinting through the corridor and into Denise’s arms, your disheveled state of appearance alarming, and concerning as she holds you in her grasp, whispering into your hair that you were fine and that it was going to be okay and that you’re going to be okay. There was a nagging that you kept at bay, buried under your confident facade, always whispering, always nagging. Always nagging. 

_You’re going to die._   
  



	6. Chapter 6

Conducting as much heat as you were able to muster, hands swiping up and then down, you shuffle over to the large doors, tearing away at your coat and scarf when the warm air washes over you from inside the building. At least the heater worked, for _now._ Fuck, you probably jinxed it with your even acknowledging it’s existence. You mentally kick yourself, peering from around the corner of the corridor. To say that you were on edge could have been an understatement. 

Your paranoia was at an all time high, considering what you had been put through these past weeks. You didn’t know what to do, and you weren’t sure if it was just each and every one of the fears you felt manifesting itself or if you were overreacting. You didn’t _think_ you were overreacting. But between the looks you were receiving from Denise and others, and the fact that your manager had even stepped in one day to ask you if you were alright, things weren’t looking too bright for your future. 

You fold your coat over your arm and throw your scarf over your shoulder, shaking your hair out before you walk to put your things away. You came in rather late today, there were few kids but soon enough, it would be overflowing with small children and you would come to loathe your life once more. You catch Freddy’s eyes turning stiffly in your direction out of the corner of your eye. You huff, disregarding his less than playful antics and straightening your name tag. You pull your hair into a ponytail before you confidently stride over to where the stage sat. The lights above you flicker to blue and green, dark shadows cast across each of the animatronic’s sorry excuses for a face. 

“You’re doing something to me. I know you are. Don’t even try to hide it — especially you,” Glaring at Freddy, you stuff your hands in your pockets. Oh, he was _well_ aware of the effect he had on you. “God, am I grateful I didn’t take night shift.” 

Bonnie’s non-existent brow raises. 

“Oh, don’t give me that look, jackass.” 

“ _Wow._ ” He says, under his breath. You look around, glad there weren’t any of those little shits eavesdropping in on your little fit. The amount of courage it took to confront these robotic fucks after your shift was short of impossible. Your hands grip either side of the sink as you stare at yourself through the dirty mirror that hung loosely from the wall. _I can do this._ Ignoring the deja-vu, you find yourself back where you were, previously, in front of the stage, far from the animatronics. You weren’t taking any chances, tonight. 

“Can you guys leave me alone?” You’re immediately embarrassed, with not the slightest clue as to how to go about this. How else were you expected to word it? Throwing Bonnie into a fit of laughter, you groan, slamming your head down onto one of the tables you had yet to clear. 

“Why would — oh my god! Ha! Oh man…” He slaps his knee, mockingly. “Why would _we?_ ” 

Your face burned under the force of their condescending gaze as you stare up at them, headache starting at your temples. 

“Why _wouldn’t_ you? Why can’t you bother somebody fucking else? I have nightmares every night because of you pricks!” 

“ _Good._ ” Chica drops in, the smile that’s cropping her face a sickly sweet facade. You can see the hatred that’s turning in her eyes when she looks down at you. Freddy hasn’t said anything yet, you notice. He’s just watching. Watching you, specifically, as you sit there, hands dragging at your sunken face. 

“Well, for one,” Bonnie starts, “Freddy has hearts in his eyes anytime your name is even mentioned, and god forbid we go against his wishes, and two — you’re fun!” 

You blink up at them. 

“ _Fun?_ ” You’re seething now, and you know it’s only encouraging their behavior when they recognize that antagonizing glare you send their way. Your knuckles are white at your side under your clenched fists. You falter when Bonnie says your name, now sitting with his legs hanging from the stage, guitar flat next to him. 

“ _Very._ ” He sneers. 

You stand, gathering your belongings in a crazed state, desperate to leave as soon as you were able, or at least before Freddy could catch you. Barely slipping through the door, you slam it in his face, triumphantly. It hits his nose and you swear you hear a faint _honk!_ when they collide. You sit in your car for a good half hour, the parking lot barren and empty, leaving only you and your self-loathing. Out of pure curiosity, you slide the newspaper bundle from your glove box and pull out the few you hadn’t skimmed over. 

There weren’t any articles surrounding the _Bite of 87,_ which Jackson had repeatedly piqued your interest in upon even the mere mention of the event, or the _Bite of 83,_ which even he had become incredibly uncomfortable upon the mentioning. You shift in your seat, crossing your legs as you attempt at deciphering what the fuck is even happening in your life at this point, your headache increasingly worse as time passed. At some point in the night you had given up and driven home in defeat, snow raining down hard against your fogged windows. 

“I’m fine, I swear, you really _don’t_ have to do this, you guys. Come on—” You protest, as Jackson pushes you down the hall, hands at your back and Denise at your side. 

“No, we’ve already talked about it and we can’t risk it! What if someone walked in while you were...having your…” She clears her throat. “Moment, and you weren’t able to do your job properly? Your life would be in danger.” 

“Okay, I don’t know about all of this, _in danger_ crap, but it’s fine, really! I’m going to stay here, with you, until your shift is over and then I will walk you to your car and we will drive home. It’s really not difficult. It’s not like I’m straining myself or anything, so stop worrying!” Jackson says, talking with his hands.

If you weren’t already comfortable with the idea of opening up to either of them about what you were really struggling with, you _definitely_ weren’t, now! You all stop when you hit table furthest away from the stage, bright balloons wafting through the air around you. You fight back a sneeze.

“Don’t you think this is a little much? I mean, really, a _chaperone_? I’m not five.” You say.

Denise and Jackson look at each other, wincing before turning back to you. 

“You’ve been pretty, uh...irritable?” Jackson says before Denise cuts him off with an elbow in his side.

“Look,” She says, “We’re both very sensitive people, and this place isn’t super awesome for either of us, so don’t think I don’t know how you’re feeling. Because I do. I mean, obviously you’ve been dealing with something far more traumatic — or, I don’t know. I don’t know. I just don’t want you to get hurt. You’re really cool.” 

“Yeah, aside from the near superhuman capabilities that you possess, regarding smell, uh, you’re...yeah.” 

You squint, shrugging Denise’s hand from your shoulder before sighing. You really couldn’t catch a break, could you? Well, at least you weren’t alone in the night anymore. Of course, you would rather leave before Jackson and just have him lock up in your place but you suppose if he wanted to, he would have already done so. They hadn’t believed you when you had brought up the topic of the horrible stench that coated the establishment, and suggested that you go see a doctor but you shook it off and ignored it, realizing that you couldn’t tell anyone else about these little escapades you shared with the animatronics. At least, if Jackson were here with you, they wouldn’t try anything. And if they did, he would see that you were right all along and that you weren’t, in fact, crazy. 

“Hey.” You say, sweeping the trash from under the table with your tattered broom. “I know you like, aren’t super comfortable with talking about it, but — could you tell me more about the _Bite of 87_?” You see him tense up around his work. You bite your lip, worried you may have struck a nerve before he looks at you, waving you over to where he sat. You set your broom next to you, leaning it against the table. “I, uh, noticed there aren’t any legit articles about it and you’ve mentioned it before, so…” 

“Yeah, I suppose it’s my fault for even bringing it up,” He says, sneaking glances at Pirates Cove from over his shoulder. “It just makes me feel really uneasy. Especially now that we’re...alone with these guys.” He swallows. 

“Oh yeah, maybe this wasn’t the best time to ask.” You jump lightly when his hands come from above, slamming down onto the table, your head snapping in his direction. He’s leaned over, glasses crooked. 

“Actually, it’s the _perfect_ time! I would love to see this for myself! If it’s even true.” 

_Great._ You hoped he didn’t mean what you think he meant. You were not going to encourage their neurotic functions even a little. They were finally quiet, although it wasn’t closing time. There were two teenagers left, sat in a corner. You assumed that the animatronics were only quiet in an attempt to eavesdrop — or to conceal themselves and their true identity. Jackson crosses his arms over the table, a finger pointed in Foxy’s direction. 

“You know how I said I had to scram that one time to run off and fix ‘ _you know who_ ’?” 

You nod.

“I was actually going to fix Foxy. I’m the only one our manager trusts to tend to his...issues.” He shifts in his seat. That phone number that Denise had given you must’ve been his. “Well, me and Denise have this working theory that Foxy was the cause of the _Bite of 87._ And that’s why they shut down Pirate’s Cove all those years ago. It wouldn’t make sense for them to keep all of the other robots up and exclude Foxy. There’s not a lot of details but besides that — I don’t know.” 

“So? What was the _Bite of 87_?” 

“What do you think?” You smile, embarrassed. You’re not sure if it was an auditory hallucination to stack onto your long list of visual hallucinations but you swore you heard humming from Pirate’s Cove while you and Jackson talked about the animatronics. 

“What type of issues? Does he talk?” _Real subtle._ You think to yourself as Jackson gapes at you. 

“Talk? Pfft, I wish! Do you know how incredible it would be if I got to _talk_ to these things?” _Yeah,_ real _incredible…_ “No, no, it’s more like, turning himself on in the daytime or sparks flying or —you know, the normal stuff.”

“Then why are _you_ the only one they trust to handle him?”

“Everyone else is too scared to take the job. Also, I get paid extra. Well 25 cent extra. But, hey! Money is money.” 

“Wait...they can turn themselves on?”

“Yeah! Kinda creepy but I think management is just _extremely_ lazy when it comes to tending to them. Well, clearly. Otherwise Denise wouldn’t come home every night looking up tutorials on how to fucking fix cars. She breaks her back working with them, but I can see why she would feel that way.” 

“Why is that, do you think?” 

He turns to you as if the answer were obvious. 

The following night was nothing short of awkward. You sat at home, on your computer, the tabs in your browser plentiful as you read through anything you could get your hands on regarding the pizzeria and it’s shady past. And to say there were a _few_ skeletons in their closet was an understatement by a long shot. It was more like they owned a walk in closet with its own bathroom, and had thrown a party to celebrate the dead. Your eyes were nearly glued shut when you woke up that morning, recalling a rather vivid nightmare that featured yours truly and Freddy fucking in your boss’s office. Your shoulders are slumped as you pull yourself, groggily, to your sink and brush your teeth. 

_Why am I doing this?_ You think when you catch yourself side-eyeing Freddy from your post. You slap your hands over your cheeks, and pinch yourself. _Stop thinking about him. He wants to kill you. He probably will! Stop. Stop. Stop —_

“Are you alright?” Your thoughts are pulled to an abrupt halt when you see your boss appear before you. You clear your throat, awkwardly, standing straight. 

“Fine! You?”

“I’m quite alright, thank you. Um,” His eyes are tired with worry as he addresses you, guiding you down the hall and in his office with a light hand to your back. “I wanted to talk to you about your work ethic and attitude.” 

_Oh._ You wait patiently for him to continue. He pulls a slip of paper from the stack that’s strewn about his desk. 

“You’re an incredible employee and I very much appreciate the sacrifice you’ve given in favor of this joint, but I’ve noticed you’ve _acquainted_ yourself with our animatronics.” 

_What?_

“Your focus is strong when in their presence and it seems you almost treat them with _respect_?” The word _respect_ is bitter in his mouth and you can feel the weight of his judgemental gaze even as you’re staring down at the floor.

“You’re taking the night shift.” 

  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

There wasn’t enough time in the day to express how you felt with your new... _promotion._ Demotion? And your boss wouldn’t think twice before shutting you down once more. 

“I think you have the wrong idea, really, they freak me out if I’m being entirely honest! Where did you—“ 

“No one else is as qualified as you are.” He leans over his desk, hands crowding the paper filled with red scrawled along the sides. _Qualified?_ Dread washes over you as you cycle through endless possibilities of what this encounter meant. The night shift? You could barely handle the day-ish shift you were shafted with, let alone the _night_ shift! And was this seriously the impression you gave off to your co-workers? That you _liked_ being around the animatronics? Suddenly, you remember what and who made this establishment so sleazy and corrupt. Not your boss, but oh, did he contribute to your neverending list of reasons to absolutely loathe the diner. 

“ _Qualified? Anyone_ can sit in an office and stare at cameras for six hours at a time.” You argue, standing from your chair. The professional smile he held turned down and you could sense the apprehension he felt in the air around you. You weren’t having it. “Besides, I thought we already _had_ someone working night shift. What happened to him? He call it quits?” 

“There was an...incident.” 

“An accident?” You stare at him. “With the animatronics, specifically?” He looks away, uncomfortable. You scoff. “And now you’re sending _me_ in? Sorry but neglected, rotting, malfunctioning robot bears aren’t exactly my strong suit.” 

“If you enjoy the partially steady income we provide you, you’ll do this.” 

You brush past the children in the hall and sprint in Denise’s direction. The look she gave you then, as you came to a stop, hands on your knees as you bent over, said everything. 

“You _knew_ about this? You knew what was happening and you didn’t say anything?” You blurt out, ignoring the satisfactory grin that Freddy wore from your left. 

“I couldn’t. Besides, I’m sure you’ll be fine! It’ll be...okay. I think. You know the animatronics better than anyone else here! Even me, which is really saying something.” 

“Is that what you think? Is that what everyone else thinks? Oh my god.” Sure, it may not have been an entirely false statement that you held more knowledge above others when it came to the animatronics, but you didn’t _understand_ them or why they decided to fuck with you instead of literally anybody else. Maybe, you were pushing your luck by even mentioning their names at this point but you didn’t stop to think. “Freddy and the Faz _-fucks_ can take their little cotton tails and their guitars and their mics and get _bent._ ” 

You watch as guilt floods her already shameful expression as she steers away, sulking. You immediately feel bad but you had to express how you felt. Besides, _why_ she would feel remorse for any single one of these bastards that dare call themselves entertainers, you would never understand. You glare at Freddy from where you stood, seething. Nothing had infuriated you more than where you stood in your current situation. Why _you_? Of all people, why you? Dimming, the lights above you flicker as you squint at the floor. You couldn’t leave. Freddy would kill you. But, what could you do, if not that? You were out of options. You sigh, complacently, turning on your heels for the exit, brushing past Denise on your way out. 

The shadow didn’t speak, watching you from where he stood adjacent to your bed. You could almost make out rabbit ears drop down over one side of his face. 

“It’s not a dream, is it.” You say, defeated. He’s hunched over, arms crossed in your direction. You lean on one side of your headboard, toes slipping out from under your sheets. There's a tight feeling in your chest as you come to terms with just how powerless you really are in your workplace and how empty you feel when you think about the fact that you may never leave. It gradually shifts from somewhere near your heart down towards your stomach when you feel his presence. Although, you know he isn’t really there, but you can feel it. Somehow, he’s watching you. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay this IS super short but I am trying to get back into things....also kinda fuckin lost my entire plot and story I had setup for this piece so please have this and thank you guys for being so patient with me. <3


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